


you flee my dream come the morning

by spiralepiphany



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 12:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16576664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralepiphany/pseuds/spiralepiphany
Summary: “With you, I am not a spy. With you, I am just me. Whatever, whoever you want me to be.”---In which a war rages unending, the moon is ever changing, and Mikasa is always dreaming.





	you flee my dream come the morning

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by a certain scene in a certain video game. If anyone recognizes it, whether by reading the story or by the giant hint that those in the know must have noticed already, do say hello. I would love to meet fellow fans. 
> 
> So this isn't a prompt fill, or the Mikasa POV oneshot from Wicked Game that I've been meaning to write, but this idea gripped me and wouldn't let go until I've written it, so here it is. Do enjoy.
> 
> Also, shout out to HappyAnon. This isn't your prompt fill, but this story does have something you've requested more of, so this is partially for you.

_The air is chilly, that night. Wet grass on the bank, like something dragged itself out of the river. She follows the trail upstream, into the forest off the left. To the huddling figure crouched by the tree, shivering and cold, where fear is overtaken by concern._

“ _Are you okay?”_

_Screams from outside the door, shouting and cries, thundering foot falls. Her mother’s arms are wrapped around her frame, her father’s around her mother’s. She’s sobbing, she’s paralyzed, her father’s holding a knife._

“ _Hush, hush my girl. It’s going to be all right.”_

_Outside it’s silent. The door kicks in._

_Blood, blood everywhere. Blood on the floor. Blood dripping off the knife. The knife stabbing into flesh. Again. And again. And again. Somebody’s screaming. Splitting pain in her head. She’s shivering, she’s cold, she’s scared, she’s—_

“ _It’s okay now. You can relax...”_

 

*

 

Eyes flicker open to the soft glow of dawn. Mikasa breathes, turning her head to look around. She sees the flaps of her tent, sealed close, with daylight seeping in at the edges. She sees her armor on its stand, her sword in its scabbard leaning by the table, the maps and reports she perused the night before, and her uniform half on the chair and half strewn on the ground. She hears the sound of marching boots, of horses’ hooves, of fire and steel. The sounds of a military war camp coming awake. Nothing out of the ordinary. And as she raises a hand to touch her forehead, her dream is but a shadow in the midday’s sun.

She exhales, slow and silent, pushing herself up on the bed as the covers fall from her chest to pool at her waist. Pulling the covers further off, she swings her legs over the side but the touch of rough fur on the soles of her feet and the chill of morning air on her skin are unpleasant reminders of her burdens. Already, seconds upon waking, the weight of the reports, her uniform, her sword, they all bear down on her. There is much to do today, just as there was much to do yesterday, just as there will be much to do tomorrow. But as she turns her head to glance at the naked back of her bed mate, she can spare a few minutes.

Rolling back onto the bed, Mikasa brings herself flush against her lover and places a hand on their bare hip, slowly tracing it upwards. She gets a soft whimper at the waist, a louder groan at the arm, and when she’s at the neck, her bed mate stirs awake. The body in her hold is instantly pliable, inviting and open, arms wrapping around her head and shoulders to pull her into a kiss, moaning into her mouth when her hand travels down to caress a pair of breasts. She presses closer, kissing languidly, fondling gently, drawing back only when the peaks under her hand are stiffened and pebbled.

“It’s a bit early for this.”

Mikasa bends down for one more kiss, whispering against warm lips. “It’s dawn, Annie.”

“Exactly,” her lover replies, voice addled with equal parts sleepiness and arousal. “Haven’t you had enough last night?”

“Your beautiful back called out to me,” Mikasa answers, letting her gaze wander down to her hand on Annie’s breast where she idly rolls the hardened peak. “I could not resist.”

Annie makes a noise of pleasure, joining their lips once more for another lazy kiss as she wraps her arms tighter around Mikasa. “And? Are you actually going to finish it?”

The notion is tempting, but regrettably, Mikasa moves her hand away from Annie’s breast to reach up and comb into golden blonde hair, to gaze into crystalline blue eyes. It is a shift that turns the touch from sensual to tender. “Duty calls.”

“How cruel,” Annie remarks, but her smile is resigned and the hands that find their way to her cheeks are no less affectionate. “To stir me up and leave me wanting. But what are the odds?” she continues, her fingers inching down to graze along Mikasa’s lower lip. “That you, Mikasa Ackerman, the most distinguished knight of the realm and the king’s most loyal bodyguard, would leave her sovereign waiting to tend to the needs of her lover, the enemy spy who plays both sides and have no loyalties to anyone but herself?”

Mikasa flashes her own smile, lightly kissing the fingers at her lips. “Like you said, we had last night.”

Annie keeps her smile, but in her eyes Mikasa sees the sadness.“After weeks, Mikasa. Weeks.”

She doesn’t disagree. If she had her way she would not leave this bed for the rest of the day. Maybe even the rest of her days. If only her position as the most distinguished knight of the realm actually gives her any say. But she is not just that. She is also the king’s most loyal bodyguard, and his childhood friend. She needs to be by his side more than ever now. In the distance, she hears a commander shouting orders to his troops, and it is the bell that signals the audience with the king. She kisses Annie one last time, running her fingers across the long, thin scar on the side her lover’s neck.

“Be glad we had it at all. We may not have another in a while.”

Annie frowns. “The worry in your face pains me.”

“There are tougher times coming,” Mikasa replies, sighing as she rises up again and gets to her feet. Picking up her undergarments from the floor next to the bed and pulling it on, she heads behind the partition screen to the wash basin. “It pains us all.”

“Did you have a bad dream?” Annie calls from the bed.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember it anymore,” she answers, bending down to wash her face, rubbing the sleep and the dream from her being. There is only a lingering sensation of chill, but nothing else, and she wipes away even that with the washcloth. Emerging from the partition, she reaches for her uniform trousers on the chair, looking towards the bed. “Why do you ask?”

Annie is sitting up, the covers wrapped around her chest, and with a small movement she tilts her head to expose her neck where the scar is. “You touched this. Or was that accidental?”

Mikasa narrows her eyes, staring at that long line on Annie’s neck. Remembering how it got there. She wants to say it was thoughtless, but they both know well by now, it never is. “Perhaps I did have one, but that is not what worries me now.” Speaking it is another reminder of her burdens, and urgency takes over. Quickly, she pulls on her trousers, working the drawstrings loosely as she looks around for her tunic. She finds it on the ground halfway to the bed, and then her lover speaks again.

“Fill me in, Mikasa. We hadn’t the time to talk last night.”

She glances at Annie as she eases her tunic over her head, at the visage of concern reflected back at her, and she sighs, turning to face the flaps of her tent once more, listening to the sounds of soldiers, of weapons, of war. Her hands still at the buttons of her tunic. “This war has been going on too long.”

Annie shifts on the bed, drawing her attention, and she watches as Annie swings her legs over the side to sit up properly. “Wars are rarely a short endeavour.”

“I know,” she replies. “But where does it end? I can’t see where it ends, Annie.”

“When one side wins.”

The answer is an obvious one. It is one that she had believed herself at one point. But now? She lets her hands move again, tucking her undershirt into her trousers. “I don’t know what it means anymore, for Eren to win. I don’t know if he can achieve what he wants. I don’t know if it’s worth it if our freedom comes at the cost of depriving our enemies of theirs.” Striding back to the table, she sits down on the chair to pull on her boots. “Every day the war goes on, the more we fight, the more Armin feels disillusioned by it all. I fear...I fear that when the war ends it will not be that we won. It will not be that we defeated all our enemies. Instead, it will be that we destroyed ourselves from within.” She raises her head, meeting Annie’s gaze. Her silence now, says much. “Perhaps...if you want to return home, you should do it now before it’s too late.”

A crease appears on Annie’s brows. “Is it that bad already?”

“Not yet,” Mikasa shakes her head. “But the situation right now is like a goblet filled to the brim. One drop is all it takes for the wine to spill over.”

“And you want me to leave before that happens?” Annie asks, standing up.

Mikasa stands too, grabbing her uniform jacket from the chair and slipping it on. “Before it even reaches that point. I can’t predict what will happen when it does, much less guarantee your safety.”

Annie does not reply immediately, instead crossing over the distance to where Mikasa is, the bed covers wrapped around herself her only modesty. Upon arriving at the table however, she lets it drop, baring herself completely as she reaches behind Mikasa to where her own tunic lay discarded. Annie raises an eyebrow, catching her eyes. It is not an act meant to be sensual, the eye contact tells her that much, but Mikasa could not help that her gaze wanders once over. She could not help appreciating her lover’s body. If she had all the time in the world, she would not be allowing her lover to dress. She would turn her around, push her against the table, and take her again right here. It is a sentiment Annie understands, and when she pulls on her tunic she does so slowly.

“Do you think I would be safer on the other side?” Annie asks once her top is on. “When your king’s armies march, it wouldn’t matter where I am. I can’t stop it. At least if I’m here, I know when and where and how. I know what to do and what to say to keep my loved ones safe.”

Cloth covering skin brings her back to the topic at hand. “But you wouldn’t be able to see them. To go home.”

“Home?” Annie echoes, and the tone in her voice is tentative. Smiling just barely, she turns around to lean her bare buttocks on the table’s edge. “I’ve been here since I was 11. I might have been born there, but I’ve spent more years of my life here than there. Maybe I don’t consider it home,” she shrugs. “Although I can’t say I consider here home either.”

“Neither here nor there,” Mikasa sums up, her hands reaching down to grasp her sword leaning on the table’s leg. “Whose side are you on, Annie?”

“My own, of course.”

The quick response has her smiling. Mikasa has asked this question countless of times, and Annie’s answer has always been the same. She accepts it with a nod, proceeding to buckle her sword belt to her hips. “All right. What of you then? What news on your end?”

The question elicits a shift, one that she could never find not fascinating. The moment when her lover, Annie Leonhardt, turns into the traitorous enemy spy, Annie Leonhardt. It is like the ripple in the water that shows the full moon to actually be an illusion of a crescent. Not an excellent characteristic for a spy to have, some might say, but to no one else does Annie show this distinction anyway. Everyone else sees the full moon, she alone sees the crescent.

“ _With you, I am not a spy. With you, I am just me. Whatever, whoever you want me to be.”_

She remembers when Annie told her that, the stormy distrust she felt raging against the burning desire to believe. She remembers fingers wrapped around a neck, thumbs threatening to crush a windpipe. Annie fought her not at all. Her body squirmed and writhed beneath her, hands gripping her wrists, but Annie never attempted to free herself. Never reached for the knife. Never even glanced at it. And amidst heaving breaths and violent coughs, tears glistening from almost suffocation yet not a word of reproach, Mikasa felt her feelings change. The storm subsiding. And then she made a decision. Whatever else and whoever else Annie might be, full moon or the crescent, with her, to her, Annie is only one thing. When she next lays her hand on Annie, it is with the tender caress of a lover. When she next leaves Annie breathless, it is from the kiss she could not bear to stop.

How desperately they made love that night. She had not cried in years, but she sobbed endlessly as Annie brought her to completion. As she begged Annie not to stop. As she vowed to herself to trust her lover from there on.

It is a vow still true today. Pulling the last buckle into place, Mikasa tests the fit of her sword belt to find it satisfactory, before letting her hands drop and turning to Annie. The spy is looking behind herself, perusing the reports scattered on the table. Armin might object to her allowing that out of caution, but there is nothing in this tent that Annie isn’t privy to. It even seems, from her deliberate shuffling through the reports, that she might have been privy to her thoughts. But finally Annie picks one particular scroll from the lot, the one on top, and hands it over to Mikasa.

“The eastern front,” Annie answers, crossing her arms when Mikasa takes the paper. “I’ve told them what your strategist wanted me to say. They believe only a token force is defending the pass. I heard the skirmish started yesterday. Perhaps news of it will arrive today.”

Mikasa glances at the scroll, not that she needs to read what’s written in it. “Who’s leading them?”

“Likely no one important. They wouldn’t take anyone away from the northern front, where the fighting’s strongest, or from the defense of the capital.”

“Why would they take the bait then?”

“Victory. Like you said, the war has gone on for too long. Or more precisely, the _stalemate_ has gone on for too long. A victory now will be a morale boost, for either side,” Annie explains. “It’s not a fight worth the high ranking commanders, but they cannot ignore the possibility of defeating the enemy either. Of course, if all goes as your strategist planned, the only ones who will suffer defeat is them.”

“I see.” Mikasa looks at the scroll once more, reassured upon seeing the name of the defense leader, and then she drops it back onto the table. With it goes some of the weight on her shoulders and Mikasa sighs, straightening. “Perhaps there is an end after all. Perhaps the goblet is not as full as I thought.” Then she turns, looks at Annie. “Thank you. I needed that good news.”

It is her lover who smiles at her, lifting a hand to trace along the line of her eyebrows from one end to the other. “Anything to rid that worry from your face.”

Mikasa closes her eyes, savours the feel of that gentle touch on her brow. She takes the hand in her own before it leaves. Holds it. “Will the defeat harm you?”

Annie shakes her head. “Fear not. It’s a given that even the best spy isn’t going to get everything right. Too many factors play a part in determining a battle’s outcome. It’s not the first time I’ve given them wrong information among all the right ones. Besides, fallen soldiers can always be replaced. But a spy entrenched behind enemy lines? A spy who has the trust of the enemy king’s inner circle? Not so easy. I’ll be all right.”

“If only they knew. But that’s good. I worry for you too.”

The smile grows wider, warmer. “I appreciate it. And now, I believe you wish to go to your king as soon as possible. Maybe wait on the news of the skirmish.” Annie scans her gaze around the tent as she speaks, the motion stilling when she finds her own trousers discarded at the foot of the bed. “But won’t you stay for breakfast first? Skipping meals isn’t good for you and you’ll be needing the sustenance to—”

Mikasa holds Annie’s hand fast, keeping her from going for her bottoms. Her lover looks at her quizzically, and then she pulls her in, wrapping her other arm around Annie’s waist as she bends down to join their lips once more. Annie melts in her embrace, her own hands going up to tangle in Mikasa’s hair as she sighs into the kiss. She deepens it, letting their tongues touch and glide against each other’s, and when Annie moans in response she wastes no time, sliding her hands down to Annie’s rear. A gentle squeeze precedes the lifting of strong thighs to encircle her hips before she sits her lover on the edge of the table.

Annie pulls away for breath. Mikasa pulls in the chair.

“Mikasa? What...?”

“You’re right,” Mikasa says slowly, positioning the chair between Annie’s parted legs as she sits herself down and hooks her arms under Annie’s thighs. She spreads them just a little further, gazing up into Annie’s face. “Breakfast is important, and I need the sustenance.”

A wicked grin quickly takes over Annie’s puzzled expression, her hands moving down to cradle Mikasa’s jaw. “Silly. I meant actual sustenance.”

Mikasa flashes a sly smile of her own, letting her fingers creep along sensitive skin. “Let it not be said that Mikasa Ackerman, the most distinguished knight of the realm, is one who leaves her lover wanting. Unless...her lover isn’t wanting?”

She senses the answer in the trembling beneath her hands, the goosebumps that rises on heated skin, the breath drawn into lungs. But she waits still, staring unwavering into cloudy blues and hooded lids, waiting until the fingers on her face press into her flesh, until the breath that leaves is shaky and loud. She waits until she hears the words tumble from her lover’s lips.

“She is wanting. And she’s a waiting feast.”

“One I shall enjoy,” Mikasa declares in return, turning her head to plant her lips against Annie’s thigh. “Lie back on the table.”

Annie does so, propping herself up on her elbows as Mikasa leans in to partake in her feast. And like any proper feast, she enjoys it with all her senses. She feasts with her eyes, taking in the sight of pinkish hues on swollen flesh. She feasts with her nose, scenting in the sweet musk of exquisite arousal. She feasts with her hands, running fingers along soft folds hiding its silky heat. She feasts with her ears, hearing the pleasured sighs from the touch of her hands. And finally, she feasts with her tongue, lapping in that all too familiar yet always delectable taste, to the feel of twitching muscles and the sound of barely restrained moans.

“Mikasa...”

Her name, uttered in that fashion, breathless and full of want, is the most beautiful sound she’s ever known. Better than the bard songs from court celebrations both joyous and solemn. Better than the resounding horn of victory after a drawn out battle. Better than the peace of waves lapping the shore with the sun in her face. Better than the laughter of innocent children who have never known suffering. If there is a sound more beautiful than this, she hasn’t found it yet. And spurred now by its utterance, by its sheer beauty and the sense of reverence, she pushes on, fully intending to milk out as much of that sound as she can. Leaving behind the warm wetness of her lover’s core, Mikasa shifts up to wrap her lips and tongue around that small, stiffened bud, suckling gently.

The moans that leave Annie’s lips then has nary a trace of the restraint she had previously, and they only increase in urgency as Mikasa slips her hands beneath Annie’s tunic to envelope her small breasts, to roll thumbs over hardened peaks. Annie gasps, throwing her head back as her chest heaves with heavy breaths. It is gratifying to watch the pleasure in her love’s face, to hear the sounds of lust spilling forth as she unceasingly suckles and thumbs. But it doesn’t distract her from the crunch of dirt beneath hunting boots just beyond the flap of her tent, stilted from surprise. She doesn’t want to, but another loud moan and she pulls away.

“Keep it down. There’s someone just outside who will hear us.”

A frustrated huff and a protesting whine is what she gets. “Mikasa, every soul in this camp knows I share your bed.”

That is true. Deliberate even, and Mikasa turns to nip Annie’s thigh lightly in agreement, to bring fingers together to pinch and press although whether to ease or to tease she isn’t sure anymore. “Yes, but they need not know that I am partaking in you right this moment.”

“I don’t care,” Annie snaps, hand tangling into Mikasa’s hair to tug at it forcefully. “Now less talking and more partaking.”

“As you wish,” Mikasa smirks, allowing her head to be pulled back to where her lover wants it most. Annie very rarely makes demands, and she could not help wanting to fulfill it when she does. But she also could not help the other feeling that rises within her, the desire to tease. Alas, she has not the time to take it as slow as she wants, to savour it as long as she wants. For now, just a little teasing will have to suffice.

Languidly, Mikasa drags her tongue along the length of Annie’s heat, licking up all the liquid arousal it offers and feasting on the sustenance it provides, before tantalizingly pushing her tongue through folds of flesh to circle around that little bud while doing the same with her fingers on breasts. The tug of her hair instantly tightens as Annie quakes beneath her, the solitary elbow propping her up giving way to lay her flat on the table as she shudders a gasping moan.

“Mikasa...please don’t—ah!”

Mikasa latches back onto Annie with lips and teeth, suckling gently as she did before as Annie writhes from the sudden attentions, back arching off the table pushing more of her breasts into Mikasa’s hands. It is one thing to fulfill her lover’s demands with a side of teasing, but not only is she short on time, she could never resist her lover’s pleads. Never could, never have. So she suckles harder, affording Annie everything she wants as Annie responds in kind with hastened breaths and trembling limbs. And as the sounds of pleasure begins to freely spill forth from Annie’s lips, it tells her with no uncertainty that her lover is close.

She takes her there, humming into the hot flesh, nipping it with her teeth. Annie jolts, hips jumping up to meet her mouth as her muscles start to tense up from that imminent release. Withdrawing her hands from Annie’s breasts, Mikasa wraps them around Annie’s thighs, keeping her legs spread open for the completion of the feast. Annie lets out a sharp gasp, the hand in her hair pulling almost painfully now in keen awareness of the impending. And then Mikasa finishes it, speeding up the broad strokes of her tongue with every breathless utterance of her name, drawing out each suckle with every wanting heave of her chest, alternating between both unceasingly until finally—finally her lover crests.

It is beautiful. The sight of it, smell of it, feel of it, sound of it, taste of it. Indeed a most glorious feast.

She helps her lover down from the high, running her hands along thighs and hips and waist in a soothing caress as she gently laps at the burst of wetness that came with release, careful to avoid that little bud to not stir her lover up further. That is for another time, although there is one thing left to do now. No feast is complete without dessert. Standing up, she leans over her lover’s form on the table and looks upon her, face flushed and turned aside, lips parted with heavy breaths, one hand still in her hair while the other holds a crumpled report between its fingers. Unfortunate, but she cares not for the scroll, nor the others no doubt similarly ruined. Instead she turns her attention to meet the crystalline blue eyes still hazy with pleasure and gratification, and she licks her lips with a smile.

“Thank you for the feast.”

Annie’s state, lying there on the table seemingly spent, seemingly sated, belies the speed in which she pushes herself up, the strength in which she pulls Mikasa in, the passion in which she joins them in a kiss. Mikasa accommodates at once, wrapping an arm around Annie’s waist as she presses closer, groaning as a tongue finds its way into her mouth. How she wishes she could just forget all her duties in this moment, that they could just stay here and make love all day. But it is a thought more fit for a fantasy, and in reality the kiss ends too soon. Because they both understand. She sighs, swallows, and looks into her lover’s eyes.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“As always.”

She watches Annie smile, feeling a hand travelling down to touch her chest through her tunic as Annie leans in to whisper against her lips. “And is there time for you?”

“Later,” she replies and already she senses the disappointment radiating off of her lover. She grasps the hand on her chest, squeezing it as she bumps their noses together. “It will give me something to look forward to. Give _us_ something to look forward to.”

It is enough to convince Annie, who smiles a little wider, her other hand cradling Mikasa’s cheek. “I’ll hold you on to that.”

Mikasa seals it with a kiss. And then with a heavy heart, but lighter shoulders, she pulls away. “I must go now.”

Annie nods, and thus it leaves one final thing to be done before they part. Like a ritual, almost, although how it is done is not always the same. But the essence, the reason, the outcome, always is. It starts with her running her fingers along the smooth line of Annie’s scar, Annie sighing softly as she tilts her head, she bending down to brush her lips against the length of it, Annie wrapping her arms around her head and shoulders to hold her close, and finally as she opens her mouth to gently bite, Annie whispers the words into her ear.

 

*

 

The sun is well above the horizon when she exits her tent and she squints at the light of it. But that is not the only thing that assaults her senses. The instant her tent flap flutters close behind her, she becomes painfully aware of everything it shielded her from. The hundreds of tents housing thousands of soldiers littering the valley. The distant booms from the ongoing battles of the northern front. The taste of smoke and ash and dirt in the air. The oppressive feel of war from the blacksmiths already hard at work this early in the morning, repairing and preparing more weapons and armor, from the frantic troop movements across the camp as soldiers scurry to their posts or drag themselves from it, from the horses being saddled up for reconnaissance or reinforcement. The smell of blood and sweat, of explosive powder and also...comfort? Warmth?

Someone clears their throat beside her. Head down from the sunlight, she sees their boots first. Hunting boots. And as she shifts her gaze up, the strangeness of the scents quickly becomes apparent for the person standing there by her tent is none other than her dear friend and closest confidant, holding in their hands a large plate with enough food for two. Bread rolls, thin cuts of meat, cheeses, and fruit. Breakfast. Actual breakfast.

“Sasha.”

Sasha grins, all sly and wicked. Balancing the plate with one hand, she uses the other to point at a bread roll. “Does that mean that I can have this?”

“You heard everything? Exactly how long have you been standing here?”

“I have exceptional hearing,” Sasha replies in her defense before her grin takes on a more lecherous nature. “Besides, Annie is not subtle. Even the castle’s walls aren’t soundproof, what more here?”

Mikasa sighs, glancing at her tent. She has to concede that point, although it does disconcert her slightly that Sasha has apparently been here far longer than her notice. But that is exactly what makes her an excellent scout. Many their ambushes have succeeded on account of Sasha’s skills. Many of their enemy’s ambushes have also been thwarted on account of the same skill. She is their best scout. And one who currently has eyes on her bread roll. Mikasa snatches it from the plate to her friend’s surprise, and as she brings it to her mouth Sasha pouts fiercely.

“I thought you’ve had your breakfast.”

It is a face difficult to not sympathize with. “Have my share of the meat instead.”

Sasha squeaks, her eyes growing wide. “Wait, truly?” Her friend’s love of meat is well known, so much so that she has only barely completed her nod before the cut disappears entirely into Sasha’s maw. “Thank you for the feast!”

Anyone else saying it, and that line wouldn’t be half as amusing. But as it is, Mikasa just chuckles because it is equally difficult to get angry at the look of pure heaven on Sasha’s face. She turns to look at the soldier tents in the valley, the smoke rising from distant battles. It is good that they could enjoy simple pleasures yet. “Do you bring news with breakfast?”

And that’s another reason she need not reprimand her friend, for Sasha knows when to be playful, and when to be serious. The scout straightens at once at her question, voice dropping. “Yes. A messenger arrived just before dawn, from the eastern front.”

“And?”

“It is as Annie said,” Sasha reports, smiling. “We’ve won.”

The sun’s heat on her face, the smell of bread and berries, the presence of a good friend, it is not unlike days of yore. Of playing by the river. Mikasa takes a deep breath, tasting the remnants of wine she shared with Annie prior to leaving the tent at the back of her throat. Annie had poured it full, near spilling. Together, they had emptied it.

“Do you remember what it was like, before the war?”

Sasha raises her eyebrows at that, more out of curiosity than surprise. Then she shrugs. “Things didn’t really change all that drastically in the forests where I grew up. Although yes, I do miss the days when game was aplenty, when there was less people, when there were more trees.”

Mikasa hums. “Think we could ever get those days back?”

“Perhaps. Provided we proceed carefully now,” Sasha answers, fingering the string of her trusty bow slung around her back. “The hunt is not over until the prey is dead. Right now, it has merely fallen for the trap. Eren and Armin are eager to press our advantage. They are already at the war table planning the next move. Jean is there too, making sure they don’t start before you arrive.”

She always appreciates her friend’s hunting analogies, for the wisdom in them are boundless. What she doesn’t appreciate, however, are Sasha’s last three lines. The timing of them, specifically. “You might have mentioned that first, instead of waiting around eavesdropping.”

Sasha grins and just sidesteps her to stand in front of her tent’s opening, raising the plate in her hand for emphasis. “How could I? Breakfast is important, after all.”

Anyone else would not survive making that many jokes at her expense. But it is a dear friend, so she simply sighs and rolls her eyes, making for the war table. “I’ll leave Annie to you.”

She doesn’t wait to receive a reply, likely a nod and a smile as usual, as she strides towards the royal tents. Perhaps she should make haste, perhaps she should feel anxious, perhaps she should start planning. But she does not increase the speed of her pace, nor her breath, nor her thoughts. And as the reaches the bend where the royal tents come into view, as she sees Armin spotting her from where he stands outside the tent, she instead stops and looks towards the horizon. There, just above the tree line, fading from the ever intensifying daylight, is the barely visible outline of last night’s moon.

She bites into her bread, watching the outline fade even more with every blink. Is it a full moon? Or a crescent? She remembers the rushing waters of the river, the distorted reflection on the water’s surface, the heavy breathing of the huddling figure, shivering in the cold. She remembers the blood seeping through the thin, long cut.

“ _Are you okay?”_

Armin calls out her name, waving her over with urgency in his movements and she turns to nod at him. Glancing towards the sky once more, the moon is gone. The moon is gone, but her ear tingles with the words Annie whispered. Sighing contentedly, she takes another bite of her bread as she walks towards the tent.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is meant to be a standalone, but I may write a companion piece to it, because there is just so much interesting backstory to explore. A continuation is unlikely though, because I envision this as a snapshot sort of thing, so there is no ending that I've ever thought of. This is also why I just cut off the story where it did. I don't know what happens next, and to me that's just fine.
> 
> As for my next work, it will be either Mikasa POV oneshot, or the companion piece to this (which will also serve as a prompt fill). I've been very busy lately though, so no promises on when anything will be up. So until then, do leave me a comment if you so desire and thanks for reading.


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